


Like a Seahorse

by Chalicia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7545875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chalicia/pseuds/Chalicia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fairly canon story set early in season two.  Sam and Dean are doing their thing: hunting things, saving people, the family business; but something weird is happening with Sam, and they have to figure out what it is before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Damsel in Distress

“Man, that was really something,” Sam said to his brother as he stowed away the weapons and such back into the trunk of the Impala. “I don't think we've ever had to deal with an entire family of poltergeists before.”

“True,” Dean replied, brushing dirt out of his hair and off his jeans. “I'm just glad they were all buried in that little cemetery back there, this would've been an even bigger pain in the ass had they been buried all around town.”

“Yeah, that is something I guess.” Sam closed the trunk and headed to the passenger door. “It still feels wrong doing this when the sun is out.”

“I hear you little brother, but for once we were actually asked to come here by the homeowner, and since the cemetery is on their property, and they provided the backhoe, I think we're good.”

“I know, it's just weird is all.” Sam folded himself up into the passenger side of the front seat.

“How about after we go back to the motel and get cleaned up, we go over to that pub O'Connell's...I heard they have really good food?” Dean asked as he slid into the driver's seat and started his baby up. The rumble and purr of her engine was soothing to him in a way he couldn't even begin to describe.

“Sounds way better than that taco joint we went to yesterday. God, that place was...well awful would have been an improvement on that place.” Sam chuckled as he thought back to the hole in the wall that Dean had picked the day before. Sam was still amazed that his brother hadn't gotten sick after eating that stuff. Dean turned the car around, putting the farmhouse in their rear-view and pointed the Impala towards the motel and a much-needed shower.

About two hours later, the two brothers slid into a booth in the tavern a few blocks from the motel they were currently staying. The pub was about half full, mostly with college students, but there were a couple of families as well. A few minutes later, they placed their order with the waitress. As they waited for their food, Dean surveyed the place. It was small, but cozy, didn't feel cramped. The walls were covered with trophies for the local college team in every sport one could think of, and even a couple Dean had never heard of. What the hell is curling? Dean also noted that the local fauna was quite nice, from your perky sorority sister, to your naughty librarian types; available in all colors from those nature provided (blonde, brunette, redhead) to a couple that added to the spectrum. There was a punk rocker with a purple and green mohawk, and one of the sorority sisters with hair that went from hot pink to lilac to sky blue as you traveled down her long tresses. When Dean's gaze traveled back up to the bubble gum colored area, he noticed that she was looking at him as well. He smiled at her and she returned the smile and blew a kiss in his direction. Dean made to catch the kiss and winked at her in return.

“Dude! Really? You think we could eat first?” Sam said as he lightly kicked his brother under the booth.

“What? I'm just looking at the dessert menu.” Dean said, never taking his eyes off the woman across the room. 

Sam just shook his head and chuckled. His brother's ability to hook up with random women never ceased to amaze him. Dean continued to flirt with the woman even through the meal. As soon as he had taken the last bite of his cheeseburger, Dean pulled his wallet and keys out of his jeans pocket. He placed enough cash on the table to cover the check and a generous tip for the waitress and handed the keys to Sam. “Here, don't wait up for me.” Dean smiled at his little brother as he slid out of the booth. Sam stuffed the keys in his pocket and finished eating. Sam was now confronted with an entire night off; nothing to hunt, no one needed to be saved. He and his brother had either been actively hunting or on the road to the next target for nearly a month now without a night off. Sam wasn't counting the night spent hustling pool for money as a night off, although Dean might have counted it. He seemed to have way more fun at it than Sam did. Sam slid out of the booth and headed outside. He wasn't interested in drinking, or in having some random fling like his brother. Not this soon after losing Jess. Sam thought about going to the movie theater, but there wasn't anything he really wanted to see. As he made his way to the Impala, Sam noticed the car parked in front of the pub on the street. The hood was up and there was smoke billowing out from the engine. Sam walked to the front of the silver Toyota Corolla. When the smoke cleared from his vision, Sam could see a young woman standing in front of the car. She had her face buried in her hands and it looked like she was crying.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked as he approached the woman. “Are you hurt?” The woman shook her head, wiped her hands down her face and looked up at him. Sam was dazzled by the emerald green eyes that met his. They sparkled with the tears that were still threatening to fall. “Uh, my name's Sam...is there something I can do to help?”

“No, nothing is hurt,” she replied. Her voice was lilting, with a slight accent that Sam couldn't quite place. Sam thought it was as enchanting as the rest of her. Sam looked over at the car to keep himself from staring at her like some smitten schoolboy. Sam noticed that actual flames had begun to lick out of the engine block.

“I'll be right back,” he assured her, then ran back into the restaurant, grabbed the fire extinguisher, and upon returning, smothered the flames with a blanket of foam. Sam handed the canister over to a dazed waiter that had followed him out of the restaurant and returned to the woman. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh my gosh, uh...”

“Sam.”

“You've already done so much. I dinna kin I could ask you to do more.”

“Nonsense, I offered. Do you need a ride or is there someone you need to call about this?” Sam motioned to the smoldering car.

“No, I can take care of this tomorrow, and I can just take a taxi to get home. I don't want to trouble you, it is a fair way from here.”

“I can take you home. I have a car in the parking lot behind the pub; it is no trouble at all.”

“You're sure I'm not putting you out?”

“I'm sure. In fact, I insist. Now, do you need to get anything out of your car?”

“Yes, I do.” She walked to the back of the car, opened the trunk, and lifted out a large box.

“Here, let me.” Sam said as he reached to take the box from her. His fingers brushed hers and sparks jumped between their hands. Unlike the usual stinging when hit with static electricity, these sparks felt good to Sam. Pleasure tingled up his arms. “The car is just back here behind the pub.” Sam led the way, making sure to keep a leisurely pace so she wouldn't have to jog to keep up with him. “I'm sorry, I never got your name.”

“Aye, tis me own fault, I should have given it by now. I am Struana Sitheach.”

“Pleasure to meet you. That's a very unusual name, where does it originate?”

“It is a family name, 'tis Gaelic, from Scotland.” That was the accent Sam couldn't place.

“Well, it is a beautiful name.”

“Thank you. Wow, this is your car?”

“Actually it's my brother's car, but he left it with me for the night.” After putting the box in the back seat, Sam opened the passenger door for her. As she got in the car, her hand brushed against his again, and Sam once again noticed the pleasant tingles traveling up his arm. It made him want to touch her more, but he just smiled at her, shut the door once she was seated and walked around to the driver's side and got in. When he started the car up, he immediately had to turn down the blaring rock music coming from the stereo. “Sorry, brother's music too.” Sam grinned at her sheepishly.

“Tis okay, it seems to fit the car as well.” She smiled back at him and Sam was once again dazzled by her emerald eyes.

“So, um, where to?”

“Um, head east to highway 77, and take it south."

"Okay," Sam said as he pulled out onto the road. "You may have to give me a bit of warning on where to turn. I'm not from around here."

"No problem, there are people who have lived their whole lives in this area that would have to be shown the turns too. I kind of live off the beaten path, so to speak. So, what brings you to Oklahoma?"

"Business; my brother and I do sort of freelance work all over the country."

"That sounds nice. Getting to travel and such. I haven't left this state since I came here as a child."

"Did you come here from Scotland?"

"Aye, my parents died when I was a wee bairn. I was taken in by the church until a lovely couple on holiday from America adopted me when I was four. They brought me here and here I have been ever since. This up here is Cemetery Road. You'll want to take it east.

"Okay," Sam flipped his turn signal on and took the turn. Since the sun was starting to set, he turned his headlights on as well. The next street was well marked, but the one after that, past the entrance to the Slaughterville Cemetery, Sam would have missed if Struanna hadn't pointed it out for him. After about fifty yards the road went from asphalt to gravel and Sam was forced to slow down to avoid some of the nastier potholes. It was a heavily wooded area and soon the road was fully enclosed to where the sky could not be seen through the trees. What little shoulder there had been before had disappeared, so that the road was even more claustrophobic. She had him stop on the road in front of a wooden gate between two trees. If there was a driveway behind that gate, Sam couldn't tell it as it appeared even more overgrown than the road he was on. "This is it?" Sam asked.

"Yes, my house is behind there, but I wouldn't want you to try to drive this beautiful car down it. I'd be afraid it might get scratched. It's so much bigger than my wee little car." Sam put the car in park and turned the engine off. Sam got out of the car, retrieving the her box of supplies from the back seat behind her. He turned to let her out of her car, but she had already done so herself and was standing in front of him. When Sam handed the box over to her, their fingers brushed against one another once again. This time, not only were there tingly sparks, but they were followed by a wave of pleasure that went through Sam's entire body. He gasped to keep from moaning aloud.

She walked over to the gates, set the box on the ground next to it and then walked back to Sam. "I'd like to thank ye, Sam...for everything you've done for me." She took his hands in her own and another wave of pleasure flowed through Sam.

Sam, staring at their joined hands, dumbfounded by what her mere touch was doing to him, barely stammered out, "You're welcome." before she ran her hands up his chest, grabbed him by the neck, and pulled his face down closer to hers. When her fingers encircled the back of his neck, a small moan escaped from his lips; only to be captured as her lips pressed against his. With that added contact, stars exploded in front of Sam's eyes and he fell to his knees before her. Seemingly of their own volition, Sam's arms reached around her tiny waist and pulled her against his chest.

She pulled away from his lips for a brief second and even that small loss of contact hurt Sam like a punch to the gut. Without a thought, clothes began disappearing from both their bodies...Sam's jacket, her blouse, Sam's shirt, her bra. Her milky white skin seemed to glow like the moonlight and Sam wanted nothing more than to touch every bit of her. The more skin to skin contact there was, the more intense the waves of pleasure were throughout Sam's body, like one orgasm after another. The waves began overlapping; the ecstasy began to overwhelm. Sam heard screaming, but did not realize it was coming from his own throat. The waves drug him under, the moonlight consumed him, and then all Sam knew was darkness.


	2. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am terribly sorry that this didn't get updated sooner. I had hoped to get this posted weeks ago, but then life came up and kicked me in the head. I have almost finished writing the next chapter as well and hope to have it finished before Halloween.

The first thing Sam became aware of was the soft breeze upon his skin. It was cool and pleasant. The next thing he noticed were some birds chirping in the distance. As Sam lay there, halfway between sleeping and awake, it occurred to him that he could feel the aforementioned breeze caressing every part of him; from the top of his head as it caused his hair to tickle his cheeks to the bottoms of his feet—and there was not a stitch of clothing to impede it anywhere between the two.

This revelation shocked Sam fully awake. His eyes popped open, only to slam back shut when the bright sunlight sliced into his head like a machete. His stomach lurched in protest as well. His entire body had a dull ache to it, like he had run several marathons in succession. Daring to move, Sam felt around him. He was apparently lying on the ground without a stitch on. While his left hand encountered a shoe and a sock, his right found his pants. Taking a deep breath, Sam steeled himself against the coming pain and once again, slowly this time, opened his eyes. He was lying on the side of the road next to the Impala, his clothes strewn on the ground around him. Ever so slowly, Sam began the strenuous act of putting his clothes back on. He felt as weak as a newborn kitten and every time he moved his head too fast it felt like his brains were smashing against his skull and his stomach threatened to empty.

Once he was decently dressed, he crawled over to the tail-end of the car, and pulled himself up until he was standing. Sam hung onto the car as he swayed unsteadily on his feet. Once he felt like he had his legs under him, Sam once again took in his surroundings.

He was on a country road enclosed on both sides by trees for as far as he could see in either direction. What sunlight reached him was dappled and had a green quality about it as it passed through the leaves of the trees. Ahead of him, on the passenger side of the car was a gate nestled between the trees. Sam cautiously made his way over to it. It was a tiny, wooden gate, only big enough for a small compact car. The only sign that it had been used were the slight impressions of tire tracks, not even deep enough to really be called ruts. Here too, the trees leaned in close and arched above blocking out the sunlight. About a hundred feet or so a way from Sam, the small trail either took a sharp turn or just stopped completely. Just as Sam was contemplating climbing over the gate and getting a further look, Sam's stomach violently emptied, the world spun, his legs gave out from under him, and it felt like a thunderbolt had struck his head. Barely managing to keep from landing face first into the puddle of puke, Sam began crawling to the Impala. Once again, he slowly made his way to the car, pulled himself upright, and then had to just stand there a few moments before the planet stopped wobbling. Sam made his way over to the driver's door, keeping at least one hand on the car at all times. The world stayed blissfully calm, there was only a dull pain from his stomach, and the headache had even calmed somewhat by the time he slid under the steering wheel and turned the car on.

Sam had to drive several miles before he found a place to turn the car around. The trees had just been too close for comfort, and frankly he didn't trust himself to attempt any fancy maneuvering at the moment. Driving back to the motel was lengthened even further by the need to pull over several times when Sam's stomach tried to empty itself yet again. When Sam did get back to the motel, it was only to find Dean already packing everything up. “Dude, where the hell have you been? I've been trying to call you for over an hour now. Everything okay with the car?” Sam didn't even say a word, just rushed into the bathroom and began dry heaving over the toilet. He hadn't even bothered to shut the door.

“Sammy, are you okay?” Dean had followed his brother into the bathroom. When Sam sat back up onto his heels, Dean handed him some water in one of the plastic cups that had been sitting next to the sink. He placed a hand on Sam's forehead and announced, “No fever, but you look like shit, little brother.”

“Thanks Dean.” Sam swished some of the water around his mouth, spit it into the toilet, and flushed it as he rose up off the ground. “I can always count on you to make me feel better.” Sam grabbed a washcloth off the towel bar, wet it under the faucet in the sink, wrung it out, and washed his face. Tossing the washcloth into the sink, Sam walked over to the bed he had claimed, but had never slept in, and sat down.

“You're welcome, now get your shit together. I just got off the phone with Bobby, got a case in Missouri.” Dean tossed Sam's dirty clothes and toiletry bag to Sam from the bathroom. Sam groaned his disapproval of the situation as he shoved all his belongings into his duffel bag. “Come on princess, get the lead out.” Dean said as he walked out the door of the motel room. With a wistful glance at the bed, Sam shuffled out behind him. Dean tossed his stuff into the trunk and headed to the driver's door. He stood there as he watched Sam drag himself and his bag over to the car. “Sammy, you really gotta learn how to hold your liquor man.” Dean walked back over to the trunk, grabbed the duffel out of Sam's hands, tossed it in and shut the trunk. At the loud thunk that the trunk made, Sam grabbed his temples, a strangled gasping escaping his lips. “Sammy, you okay?” Dean grabbed his brother's shoulders to steady him as he looked like he was about to fall over. “You having one of them visions?”

“No, Dean, it's just a really...really excruciating headache—the normal kind.” Sam replied, “I'll be fine.” Sam pushed past Dean and stumbled towards the passenger door. Dean helped Sam get himself folded into the car, then headed back over to the driver's side.

As Dean pulled the car out of the motel's parking lot, he said, “Dude, you need to throw up, you let me know. I don't need you puking in my car.” Sam grunted back in acknowledgment as Dean pulled into the Gas N' Sip to fill up the car's gas tank. Once his baby was full, he went inside. When he came back out and got into the car he dropped a sack into Sam's lap.

“What's this?” Sam asked, looking into the bag. There was a 7-up, a box of saltines, and a bottle of ibuprofen.

“Thought it might help.” Dean said as he pulled the car onto the highway.

“Thanks,” Sam then noticed that Dean hadn't turned the radio on. Instead of the usual loud rock music, there was blessed silence. Sam nibbled a couple crackers and sipped some of the soda. While he was still nauseous, he no longer felt like he was going to upchuck immediately. Once he was fairly certain that he was going to be able to keep it down, he swallowed a couple of the ibuprofen. Finding a fairly clean t-shirt in the backseat, Sam rolled it up, placed it over his eyes to block out the sunlight, and settled in to attempt a bit of sleep. He awoke a few hours later to the sound of Dean rhythmically drumming his fingers on the steering wheel while he enthusiastically hummed “Ace of Spades” by Motorhead. “Where are we?” Sam asked as he warily opened his eyes and looked around. So far, so good...the headache was almost gone.

“Sorry Sammy, didn't mean to wake you.”

“No problem...where are we?” His stomach lurched.

“Just hit the back side of Tulsa, should be in Missouri in a few hours.”

“Where in Missouri are we headed?”

“St. Joseph's, ...well a little place on the outskirts.” Dean glanced at his brother, noting he still looked pale green.

“What's going on there?” Sam took a sip of the now warm soda.

“Bobby's not really sure. Said a body was found at some historical marker filled full of bullets.”

“What? How does that make it our kind of thing?” Another lurch from his stomach.

“The bullets are nearly a hundred years old; the little lead balls that were used around the civil war.”

“Okay, so someone shot the guy with an antique weapon. I still don't see how this is a case.”

“No bullet holes, it's like the bullets just teleported into the guy.”

“Dean, gonna need you to pull over.” Sam could feel the bile in his throat.

Dean quickly pulled the car over to the side of the road. Sam lumbered out the door before the Impala came to a full stop, hanging onto the guardrail as his stomach emptied. Within seconds, Sam could feel his brother's hand on his back. “You gonna be okay, Sammy?” All Sam could do was groan as he dry-heaved. “This isn't from drinking, is it?” Dean asked as he handed Sam some napkins he had grabbed out of the car. Sam shook his head as he wiped of his mouth. “Let me guess, you didn't drink anything last night, did you?”

“Nope, just the beer I had with dinner at the pub.” Once again, Dean's hand was on his forehead.

“Well, still no fever, near as I can tell, so probably not the flu. Do you think maybe it was something you ate?”

“I guess it's possible.” Sam teetered back to the car and folded himself back down onto the seat, his legs still outside of the car. He leaned over, placing his elbows on his legs. He rinsed his mouth out with a swig of the soda, spitting it onto the asphalt between his feet.

“You good for now?” Dean asked, worry clearly plastered on his face. He couldn't recall the last time he'd had to deal with a sick Sammy, the kid just never seemed to get sick, not like this anyway. 

“Yeah, I think so...you think we could stop somewhere and get some water?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Once Sam was fully into the car with the door closed, Dean walked back over to his side of the car. He started her back up and pulled back onto the highway. A quick stop at a convenience store, and they were once again headed down the road. Sam slept most or the rest of the trip. Dean had to pull over two more times before they finally made it to St. Joe's. When Dean pulled into the motel's driveway, he left Sam asleep in the car while he got them a room. He would've let him sleep while he unloaded their stuff into the room too, but Sam woke up when he turned the engine off. Dean insisted Sam go straight to bed; no ifs, ands, or buts. “I'll go see what the five-O know, then I'll be back with some dinner in a little while. Get your rest.” Dean straightened the tie on his “Feeb” suit, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door. Once the doors and windows were salted, and proper wards and such were in place; Sam divulged himself of everything but his boxers and his 9mm, that he placed on the nightstand, and crawled into the bed. He fell asleep quickly and was still asleep when Dean got back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it. Please let me know one way or another in the comments section below. Thanks.


	3. Dinner and a Story

Dean changed out of his suit and into some jeans, a t-shirt (Zeppelin), and a flannel over-shirt. Feeling more like himself, he proceeded to unpack the food he had bought for his brother and himself. Dean had gone to a little Chinese restaurant inside a strip mall that he had spotted on the way to the police department. He had them add some Lo Mein noodles to the egg drop soup—Bam! Chicken noodle soup. Just what the doctor ordered. He also got Sam some of that green tea he was always seeing articles on the internet about how it was so good for you. Not knowing exactly what he was in the mood for, he had gotten a little of nearly everything off the menu; wontons, egg rolls, crab rangoon, some chow mein, some lo mein, fried rice, and a couple other things he wasn't even sure what they were. Once he had pulled all the little containers out of the large grocery sack the cute little waitress had packed them in for him, Dean grabbed some silverware and a plate out of the little kitchenette that the motel room had for a change. With everything set up, he then set about waking the sasquatch that was tangled up in the sheets of the bed on the far side of the room. “Hey, Sammy, dinner.” He said as he ruffled the hair on his brother's head. A muffled groan arose from the pillow. “Come on, man, we gotta get something into you.” Sam turned his head up to look at his brother. He was no longer a pale shade of green, which Dean took as a good sign. “Come on over to the table and let's get some food into you.”

Dean walked over and sat at the table and begun putting some stuff onto his plate. He was soon followed by his brother, wrapped in a blanket. Dean scooted the chicken noodle soup and tea towards his brother with one hand as he shoveled food into his mouth with the other. Sam eyed the two containers warily as he sat down, “What's that?” 

“Gotcha some soup and tea, and if you're a good boy and eat it all, you can have a cookie.” Dean waggled a fortune cookie in the air and got a dose of bitch face for his remark. He took it as a good sign. If Sam was bitchy, he was probably well on the road to recovery from whatever had ailed him before. 

Sam opened the soup container and took a tentative sniff of the contents. When the aroma didn't turn his stomach, he tried a taste of it. It was good; in fact, it was delicious. Sam dug in and began eating. Before Dean knew it, Sam had drained the cup of soup, got up and grabbed a plate, and was digging into some of the other cartons. Dean hadn't seen Sam pack away food like that since before he had left for Stanford, during that last growth spurt that insured that his little brother had become the taller Winchester brother. “Oh God, he's not going to get even taller, is he?” ran through Dean's mind as he watched his brother eat with more gusto than he had seen in years.

Once they had finished eating, Dean began clearing the table. Sam started to help, but his brother said, “Uh-uh, no way...I got this. You go take a shower.”

Sam thought about protesting since he really did feel a lot better than he had that morning, but the thought of a shower and clean clothes outweighed his need to feel useful and prove to Dean that he was okay. Didn't stop him from sending a snarky, “Yes, Mother.” his brother's direction.

Dean just snorted and called out, “And don't forget to wash behind your ears.” in a sing-song voice.

Sam grabbed his duffel bag and went into the bathroom while Dean began washing the plates and silverware they had used. Once that was done, he gathered all the empty cartons into the grocery bag they had arrived in, put it in the trash can, wiped down the table and counter, grabbed the weapons bag, and began to check and clean all the weapons. He was nearly done when Sam emerged from the bathroom actually looking like he felt better. Hell, compared to this morning, Dean would say Sam practically glowed with “healthy”.

“Okay, you've had dinner and bath-time...You ready for a bedtime story?” Dean asked as he put away the last of the weapons.

“Very funny.” Sam tossed the towel he had been drying his hair with at Dean, hitting him square in the back of his head. “Is this a case or not?”|

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure this is our thing. I don't know exactly what is going on here, but it's definitely weird.” Dean threw the towel back at Sam, who caught it and tossed it into the bathroom.

“So, tell me about it. What's so weird? What's not adding up?” Sam sat on the corner of his bed.

“Dead guy full of bullets with no bullet holes. Other than the Y-incision, this guy looked like he was taking a nap on the table. Coroner said other than the six bullets he pulled out of him, he was the picture of health. Of course, he said the guy would have had lead poisoning if the bullets hadn't killed him just from being there...they were little round lead balls just like you would see in civil war museums. Just as he was showing me those and telling me what kind of guns would shoot those, they brought in another body. This one, all they know is that it was a woman. She was missing her head, hands, and feet.”

“You think she was a vamp and someone ganked her?” Sam asked.

“Could be. First one, I was thinking maybe a witch or something...but then she shows up...who knows. Like I said, definitely weird, probably our kind of weird; just not sure what it all adds up to.” Dean slumped into the chair.

“Do we have any other leads on this?” Sam asked

“Well, we could go talk to the first victim's friends and family, other than that we got bub-kiss. They won't know who the dead chick is until DNA comes back, and that will only work if she's in the system.” Dean said, repeating what the coroner had told him.

“Well then, let's go talk to the victim's friends and family. You already have their deets, or do I need to look them up for you?” Sam said as he finished putting on his boots.

“They're right here in this case file.” Dean tossed the manila folder into his brother's lap. “You sure you're up for this, don't want you having a relapse or something.”

“I'm fine, Dean,” Sam said. “Let's do this.” Sam grabbed his jacket and headed toward the door.

“Okay, but remember...If you're gonna toss your cookies, that the car is off limits.”  
“Yeah, yeah...I said I'm fine.”


	4. Chapter Four: Dean's The History Nerd

Dean pulled the Impala in front of the house that matched the address given in the police report. It looked like every other suburban house in every suburban neighborhood he had ever driven through in all his years of doing this job. Looking around, he just couldn't see it...couldn't understand why Sam wanted to leave his family for this. What was so great about these boring, clueless, potential victims that made Sammy want to become one of them so badly. Dean must have sighed or made some other unintentional noise to accompany his thoughts, because Sam stopped halfway out of the car and turned toward him, asking, “You okay?”

Dean just shook his head no as he pulled the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car. He walked around the back of the Impala to join his brother on the sidewalk, and they made their way up to the house. Sam let Dean take the lead on this one since he had already done so much legwork.

Dean knocked on the door as he pulled out his fake FBI badge, raising his eyebrows at Sam to do the same. When an elderly woman answered the door, Dean said, “Hello Ma'am, I am Agent Scott and this is my partner Agent Young, we are here about William Ford, can we ask you a few questions?”

“Sure, sure...aren't you just some fine, handsome boys.” The woman said as she led them into the house. “Why don't you boys have a seat here.” She motioned to the couch. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“No, thank you, Ma'am.” She settled into a chair next to Dean.

“Please, call me Evelyn.”

“Evelyn, do you know why Mr. Ford was in the alleyway at that time of night?”

“I don't know why he chose to go at night, but Billy—he said he wanted to see where it really happened.”

“Where what happened ma'am, er—Evelyn?” Sam asked.

“Why where his great-grandfather killed Mr. Howard.” Evelyn said

“Wait, what?” Dean asked. “Are you telling me William was the great-grandson of Robert Ford?” Dean lit up like he had just walked into an all-you-can-eat pie buffet, whereas Sam was obviously confused as to what the heck was going on.

“Yes, young man, that's correct.” She smiled and patted the top of Dean's hand. “Boy knows his history, that's refreshing to see in this day and age.” Dean smiled back. Sam thought Dean looked like a dog who had just been told he was a good boy—he could practically see his tail wagging.

“And you say this alley, that's where it actually happened? I thought it happened at Mr. Howard's home, the one they've turned into a museum.” Dean asked. Sam was beginning to think that he was stuck in some parallel universe where Dean was the scholar...it was really starting to freak him out. Sam fidgeted a little in the seat as he tried to figure out how to ask a question to figure out what they were talking about without sounding like a complete idiot.

“Well, they moved the house many, many years ago. That place is where it originally stood, there's a historical marker saying so not twenty yards from where poor Billy was found.”

“Do you think Mr. Howard filled William full of lead as revenge?” 

“It's a possibility...although I've always felt that Mr. Howard used Bob as a form of suicide, if you get my meaning. If anyone wanted revenge, it was probably one of his relatives...either his brother, or some of the womenfolk in his life—his mother or his wife.”

“Are any of them buried around here as well?” Dean asked.

“Well his brother was cremated, his ashes buried over in Independance, but his womenfolk are buried beside him in Mt. Olivet.”

“Huh, well thank you very much for your time, Evelyn. You've been very helpful.” Dean rose from his seat on the couch, reaching over the small coffee table to shake the woman's hand.

“Anytime young man. It's so nice to meet someone who knows their history...so refreshing.” Evelyn replied, patting the top of Dean's hand. Dean gave Sam a “come on, let's go” glance and headed for the door.

Sam handed her a business card and said, “If there's anything else you think of, don't hesitate to give us a call. Thank you for your time.” and followed Dean back to the Impala.

As Dean started the car up, Sam turned to his brother, “What the hell were you two talking about in there?”

Dean turned to Sam, “You mean to tell me that I knew something that you didn't know about, nerd boy?” He grinned at Sam like someone had just handed him a whole pie.

“Cut the crap, Dean, who the hell is this Mr. Howard and why would he want to kill the victim?”

“Simple, Mr. Thomas Howard was the alias for on Jesse James, who was shot in the back by the coward Robert Ford, the great, great-grandfather of our victim.” Dean pulled the car out and headed back to the motel.

“And you think that the ghost of Jesse James literally filled him full of lead? I should have known that this would have something to do with your Westerns fetish.”

“It's not a fetish, Sam.” Dean pouted.

“Uh-huh,” Sam muttered. “So what's your brilliant plan? You want to salt and burn one of the most well-guarded corpses in all of Missouri?”

“No, not yet...I think it might have been his Wife or his Mother who did it.” Dean said as he pulled into the motel parking lot.

“But aren't the three of them buried side-by-side?” Sam asked as they got out of the car.

“Yeah, I figured first thing tomorrow morning we'd go scope the places out; the cemetery, the old homestead, and where the guy got himself ganked.”

“Okay, I just have one question though,” Sam said as they entered the room.

“What's that?” Dean started taking his tie off after throwing his jacket on the bed.

“What about the headless woman at the morgue? Where does she fit into this theory of yours”

“Huh,...I don't know. Maybe she really was killed by a sick person who used, what did the coroner call it?, 'forensic countermeasures'.” Dean tossed his dress shirt onto the pile of clothes on the bed, sat at the edge to take his shoes off and looked over at his brother. “Why don't you get some more rest, you're still looking a bit tired. I'm going to go talk to some more of the locals, see if I can get anything new out of 'em.”

“Is that what you're calling trolling the bars for chicks now?” Sam retorted as he began changing out of his suit as well.

“Dude, shaddup.” Dean dug jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel out of his bag. “Maybe someone knows something about the headless chick.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Sam said as laid down in the bed and pulled the covers up over him.

“Now do you need me to tuck you in before I go princess, or are you gonna be okay while I'm gone?” Dean smirked as he pulled on his jacket. He got a pillow thrown at him in return.

“Just go, jerk.”

“Bitch...” Dean walked out the door, got into the Impala, and headed to the bar closest to where the woman's body had been found.


	5. Chapter Five: Dean's Night Out

Dean pulled into the parking lot across the street from the bar. It was a real hole in the wall from the looks of it outside. It looked like an abandoned warehouse, covered in graffiti. The bouncer at the door looked like he was a professional wrestler or something. He looked Dean up and down, like he was sizing Dean up for a fight or something, grinned wide, and nodded his head towards the door. Dean went inside. The interior was nothing like Dean had expected from the outside. There was a large stage at the back, with small tables surrounding it, complete with little candle filled glass globes in the center of each. Along the right wall was a long mahogany bar, and to the left of the stage and tables was a dance floor with these weird upholstered bench-like risers around three sides. At the moment, the stage and the dance floor was empty but for a few people who seemed to be waiting for something to start. Dean walked over to the bar, got the bartender's attention, and ordered a whiskey. Dean took a swig, enjoying the burn, and took another look around the bar. There were two guys over at the dance floor that seemed to be having some sort of heated argument, about four of the tables had people at them—all males. In fact, now that Dean thought about it, there didn't seem to be a single woman in the place other than the bartender and the waitress. Turning back to the bartender, Dean was flagging her down again, when a young man walked up to the bar stool next to him and said “Never seen you here before.”

“Yeah, new in town.” Dean said, as he motioned for a refill. The bartender looked over at the other guy, who nodded to her. “Got sent here because of the lady that was found out back.” Dean flashed his fake FBI badge. “Thought maybe someone around here might know who she was or something.”

“Name's Dave. I don't know anything about it, but Blanche might know, I'm here to pick her up once the show is over.”

Dean was just about to ask “Show?” when the house lights went down, the ones on the stage went up, and the room was filled with the beginning of Gloria Gaynor's “I Will Survive.” The curtains went up, revealing about a dozen drag queens. There were two that resembled Cher, one that looked like Lady Gaga, a Barbara Streisand, a Beyonce, and the rest didn't resemble anyone famous that Dean had seen before. All that seemed to come out of Dean was a “Huh...” as he watched the show, a confused look on his face. Dean just sat there with a deer-in-headlights look on his face the whole thirty minutes that the drag queens were singing and dancing. When the house lights came back up after the curtain went down the final time, Dean chugged down the rest of his drink and set the glass onto the bar. Dave was no longer next to him. As Dean got up to leave, Dave came back, with one of the drag queens on his arm, guiding her straight to Dean.

“Blanche, this is the Agent I was telling you about, he's looking into the woman whose body was found out back the other night. I told him that maybe you could tell him what you might know about it.” Dean offered his hand out to the “woman” as he flashed his fake badge once again. 

“Ma'am, where you here when the body was found last night?” Dean asked.

“Oh, you were right, he's adorable.” she said to Dave then turned to Dean, “Yessir, I was here, put on three great shows last night. I didn't see the poor thing, that was Cherry that found her.” She turned and yelled out “Cherry!” toward the end of the bar. The Beyonce look-alike came over to join them. “Cherry, this is Agent...”

“Scott,” Dean supplied.

“He is here about the poor woman you found out back last night.” Blanche said to her.

“Oh, that was just awful!!!” Cherry exclaimed.

“Yes, ma'am, I'm sure it was,” Dean said, “Could you tell me what led up to you finding the remains?”

“Well, I was just outside the back door, sitting on the steps getting in a quick smoke before the next show, when I heard a noise from around the corner. Just as I was about to see what it was, this man burst from out of the alleyway, knocking me to the ground. I never got a good look at him. By the time I got back up, he was gone. I looked around the corner and saw what I thought was a headless, armless mannequin. It was only when I got closer that I realized it had once been a person. That's when I called 911.”

Could you show me exactly where you were when it happened?”

“Sure thing honey,” Cherry took his hand and led him to the door on the side of the stage. Through the door, down a hallway past several dressing rooms, and out a heavy, metal door. Dean found himself at the top of a set of about five concrete steps with metal pipe railways leading down to the street below. Around the corner was an alleyway. Dean left Cherry at the top of the steps and walked toward the alleyway. “She was just around the corner, on the ground in front of the dumpster. Like she was just dropped there, he didn't even try to hide her or anything.” Dean walked around the corner, where there was still crime scene tape in place from the dumpster to the light post at the corner of the alley. Dean looked around, taking the whole area in, noticing a security camera in the corner. He didn't recall anything about it in the case file that he had “borrowed” the day before. 

“Cherry, do you know who owns that building?” Dean asked, pointing in the direction of the camera.

“Oh, yeah, that's Chi-Chi's studio. She should still be inside.” Dean let the drag queen lead him back into the backstage area and to a dressing room with several people inside. “Chi-Chi, this is Agent Scott, he's here about what I found last night. He needs to talk to you.”

“Well, hola Agent Sexy,” Chi-Chi sidled up to Dean. The tiny Latina put one hand on his chest and the other around his waist, pulling him even closer. “Whatever can I do for you sweety?”

“Um,...well Cherry said that you own the building on the other side of the alley.”

“I sure do. You want me to give you a tour of the place. I could definitely make it worth your while.” Her hand went from his hip to grab his ass.

“Actually I was wondering if the camera out there captured anything that might be of use to my investigation, if perhaps you might have footage of the guy who left that poor woman's body out there.” Dean carefully extracted himself from Chi-Chi, keeping her hands in his own so they couldn't roam further.

“Sure thing, honey.” She bent over, slid a laptop on the dressing room table toward her, flipped it open, typed a few keystrokes and looked back at him inquisitively. “It's digital, downloads to my server every twenty-four hours. You want me to email it to you?” She wiggled her behind suggestively.

“That would be great, thank you.” Dean handed her Agent Scott's business card with the email he was currently using on it. “Can you send me the footage from that night and the week before, in case that person was there earlier...just in case, you know.”

“You bet, sweety.” A few more keystrokes and Chi-Chi shut the laptop. “It should all be in your inbox very soon.”

“Thank you Chi-Chi, I really appreciate it.”

“No problema, Agent Sexy, now can I buy you a drink and convince you to dance with me?” Chi-Chi rose and stalked back toward him once again.

“Unfortunately, I have to get going, I have a lot of work to do.” Dean backed up and quickly made his exit, making his way back out to the bar. Now the place was in full swing, packed and with a crowd both in front of the bar and on the dance floor. By the time he made it outside to the safety of his car, he had been thoroughly “man-handled”, and had a dozen numbers pressed into his hand (and a couple into the back pockets of his jeans—and not a single one of those numbers belonged to an actual female.

The next bar Dean went to was some honky-tonk joint, loosely based on Coyote Ugly. (Whether it was based on the movie or the original bar, Dean didn't ask, nor really care...he was much too happy to be surrounded by actual women.) None of the people there knew anything about the woman outside the drag club nor the guy who died from lead poisoning, and after a few too many drinks and a heavy make-out session with one of the dancing waitresses in the back of the Impala, Dean headed back to the motel to get some shut-eye before taking another crack at the case the next day.

Still convinced that it was just a vengeful spirit of either Jesse James, his wife, or his mother that had taken the guy out; and that the woman was just the unfortunate victim of a serial killer or something; Dean planned on visiting the cemetery, the homestead house that had been turned into a museum, and the place where the guy had been killed (not necessarily in that order) the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N This is my first SPN fanfic. Let me know what you think! Please comment below and let me know if you like it or even if you hate it.


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